The Great Unfinished Symphony

We’re celebrating 250 years of America this weekend, which is a period of time that strikes me as significant yet still renders us a child in the general scheme of the world. Isn’t that a funny duality?

And what I’ve been thinking about since January, since we entered this monumental year, is what 250 years of America means for us as a nation but also to me, as a private citizen. I’m a history lover who looks at the state of our nation today and can’t help but feel that there’s an awful lot of reconciling to do—of issues both past and present—while embracing patriotism for my homeland because there’s also a lot to be proud of. Again, duality.

This is even more on my mind because my last read of June was Tom Brokaw’s The Greatest Generation, which was published in 1998 and profiled many different folks from that generation. They’re the people whose childhoods were marked by the Depression, who were drafted or volunteered themselves for WWII, and who entered the post-war boom with vigor. Brokaw interviewed them when they were in their 70s and 80s, and, consistently, one of their concerns was the lack of patriotism they were seeing with every successive generation. One lady said talking about such a thing was kind of a square thing to do (her term, not mine—ha), but it should be talked about.

The Greatest Generation has been defined by the dire challenges they rose to and found ways to conquer, and every generation has history that has either shaped them already or that’s playing out now and will determine the strength of their collective character based on how they respond. One of the pieces emerging from that is how we choose to band together as a nation or reject cohesion and common ground. 

Here’s the thing history and the present day would remind us, though: there are pros and cons to both choices. There can be valid reasons on both sides of that spectrum. I believe we call that the human experience, so why would we not see that playing out on this national scale, too?

What troubles me is how a book published in 1998 citing patriotic concerns from folks then still rings true with an even greater increase in that lack of loyalism today. And I didn’t need to read a book from thirty years ago to recognize the unrest of my home, but sometimes, for me, seeing something spelled out in writing is what my brain needs to pause a moment and reflect on the matter more. 

It’s part of why I started making a list on my Notes app this year titled, “History in My Lifetime.” Because it’s so easy to miss the monumental things happening over the course of your life because you’re in the thick of them. Sometimes, too, it requires a stretch of time to let hindsight settle in, and only after the fact do you realize an event’s significance.

There are very obvious items that made the list, such as 9/11, COVID-19, the War on Terror, Hurricane Katrina, Black Lives Matter/Ferguson 2014, and #MeToo (just to give you a sampling). Some of the things on the list are more silly or lighthearted, such as the fact that we live in an age of Too Many Milks and the Rise of Reality TV and Usain Bolt being the Fastest Man Alive.

Now, my list is made up of more than American history, but it’s a great exercise for helping to ground me in the time I’ve been given to live in. It makes me think about what my community has weathered, at a local level, and it draws into consideration where my country’s been the last twenty-nine years. That’s a small chunk of change out of the whole 250. Only 11%, in fact. 

Another thing history will show us is that it can take a mere 11%—or even less; America was only in WWII from 1941-1945, which is 2%—to alter the days to come. So, what I mean by that is this: there is no insignificant time. Our days matter, though they may feel ordinary or humdrum in some seasons or because we don’t have something as glaringly obvious as the Great Depression on our hands. 

We have our own troubles and concerns, our own wins and losses, our own contributions to make. I’m liable to be as square as that one lady was worried about being, but, as we celebrate our nation’s birthday in unsettled times (can someone tell me when there’s ever actually been a settled time?), it must be acknowledged. It must be written down so the words can be seen and nudge us all toward deeper reflection.

And maybe that reflection leads to action. Maybe it makes you double-down on loving America yet being dissatisfied with sitting on the sidelines as you notice something in your community that requires all hands on deck. Or maybe just your hands. Because, yet another history lesson, it only takes one person to make the difference or be the catalyst for it. Because you can love something and still see its flaws. You can embrace your patriotism knowing that doesn’t take you out of the equation of effort to actively care for our home. If anything, it should heighten your sense of duty to do something. 

If you’re like me, it can be overwhelming to think of the issues America needs to sort out, and you can feel small and helpless looking at the big picture. Thank goodness caring for our country doesn’t look like only one thing. Thank goodness you don’t have to jump into the deep end right away and take on a dozen responsibilities. It can absolutely just be one commitment you make to a cause in your community. May I even suggest that it can be something you do within the limits of your neighborhood, your street? 

I’ve mentioned this in a past blog post or two, but how I pitch in is at my local food shelf. I have the time for a morning shift once a week, and, let me tell you, that place is busy. Busy with incoming food rescue. Busy with other volunteers. Busy with patrons who are from all different walks of life. My faith calls me to serve others, and I’m glad to do so in this capacity. It requires nothing but me being willing to show up. 

In a handful of months, my husband and I will be moving to a new state for his work, and I’m already curious about what I’ll find to show up for in a new town. Because the service and the caring doesn’t end simply because I’m leaving this place I’ve been established; sometimes it just changes. Some day when I’m, hopefully, a mom, it will change again, and I’m curious how I’ll model civic duty to my children. When I’m an old lady, what will I get involved with then?

This curiosity, this horizon of opportunity, is how I came up with today’s title, influenced by the Hamilton lyric when Alexander sings, “America, you great unfinished symphony, you sent for me.” I was not sent for, just born here, and my work, in some ways, has only just begun. I’ve got a whole life ahead of me. 

America isn’t done—remember how it’s still just a child in the grand scheme of the world? So, what will our country still accomplish in the time to come? With the present day? This weekend we should celebrate our nation’s birthday with a spirit of curiosity, one eye on where she’s come from and the other on where she may be on her way to.